


will i find that dream, that i lost as a child

by softsmilesandbrokenhearts



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Requited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsmilesandbrokenhearts/pseuds/softsmilesandbrokenhearts
Summary: paul doesn’t know what love is, doesn’t dare explain it. but if he had to, he would try and explain it in crushed flowers and bloody noses. he’d mention the bitter heartbreak that comes with it, and that it’s a foolish thing to do, fall in love.were he being honest with himself, he’d mention auburn hair and crooked smiles, of buddy holly glasses and banjo chords.or, paul figures out what love means and along the way figures out what it doesn’t.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney/Original Character(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 67





	will i find that dream, that i lost as a child

(one)

-

paul is five years old, nearing six when he thinks he has it all figured out. the secret to love and the simplicity of it. it’s not much of a secret, or at least paul think so, as he watches the quiet affection his parents have for each other. his parents have it pretty good, the income not the best, but the star struck eyes they have for each other must make it somehow better. they aren’t one of those flashy couples that need to prove to the world that their dying marriage isn’t a scam, and re relatively quiet, content in each other’s presence. the blatantly loud ‘i love you’s are still there, only to be proven later in simple, discreet actions. it’s a wondrous thing to paul, not old enough to find the concept of girls gross, nor is he nearly old enough to want it for himself.

but it’s engrained in his mind, this little secret layout to love of his and it goes like this. 

you like someone, love them maybe. you’re nice to them, and they like you back. a push and pull game of kindness, and eventually, gradually two people like each other. the love that follows is natural, like his parents affections for each other, something paul sees behind door cracks and times when he isn’t supposed to be watching. something that’s in there with a gentle caress to the cheek and an inside joke that no one else can comprehend. love is natural in the romantic showy bits on the television, grand expressions of this romantic love and flowery, poetic words set on a black and white stage. love is simple in the way it isn’t, the way it can take any form and it molds itself to fit the story. paul finds it intriguing, an odd sort of obsession, a way that leaves him excited for the future. he reckons with a little quirk to his lips that it will be the easiest thing to do in life. easier than grammar school or trying to tie the laces on his shoes. 

paul sometimes looks at himself in the mirror and regards his puffy cheeks and pale skin, and despite his young age, he thinks he is cute. he’s not very tall, and he still has baby fat that clings to him, but that’s not the sort of thing a kid his age worries about, and so he doesn’t. his mom tells him he is cute, and his mom is basically his best friend, so he believes it.

paul thinks he is cute, and his teachers think he is too, and they find his manners adorable and praise him constantly. he’s nice to everyone, even the mean older kids at school, and despite everything, the teasing and the bullying, he’s a nice kid. he stares at himself in the mirror and grins, a boxy sort of thing, and thinks what’s not to love.

-

(two)

-

paul is in his second year of school when he experiences his first crush.

her name is lily, and she’s a cute little thing, with glasses and freckles. she’s short, shorter than he is, and paul finds himself staring at the bandaids that are a constant on her knobby knees. she’s funny, braces giving her an odd lisp that would be endearing if it weren’t so easy to make fun of, and paul likes her. or at least that’s what he tells his mom everyday after school.

he greets her every morning, with a posh little hello, trying to be one of those romantic heroes on television, and doesn’t get too down put when he gets ignored. sometimes, and it’s a rare thing, lily will let paul cause her around the playground, indifferent and somewhat bored, as if she was doing him a favor. he tells his dad as such, somewhat worried when a few months later she still refuses to talk to him in front of her friends. his dad, a wise man of his age, tells him that she’s playing hard to get, that’s what girls do. he says it in a way that’s supposed to cheer him up, and it does briefly before reality kicks back in.

even so, paul figures something must be wrong with him. all the other girls in his grade fawn over him, and he can’t understand why lily won’t give him the time of day. she’s kind enough however to throw away the little handmade gifts he gives to her at times when she thinks he’s not looking. paul wonders which is worse, outright denying someone or leading them on. 

eventually paul gets over it, and chases other girls, but he won’t forget the lesson he had learned.

paul is in his second year, nearly eight, when he learns no matter how nice you are, it doesn’t guarantee them liking you back.

paul figures out an ugly flaw in his key to love, and fixes it, a strange form of shame thrumming low in his gut. you like someone, and you are nice to them. if they are nice to you, they like you back.

lily was never very nice to him. 

-

(three)

-

paul is thirteen, vaguely awkward and half in love with music, when he has his first crush on a boy,

paul is sheltered, doesn’t hang around with any older kids, so he hasn’t yet realized the repercussions of this. doesn’t know the sneered insults that are passed around between boys or the illegal status of this feeling of his. 

david is his new friend, taller than him by quite a bit, with sandy blond hair and a crooked grin. he’s still missing some teeth, and paul finds it cute, how late they decided to pop up. david is funny, in a kind of vulgar sort of way that paul isn’t accustomed to, but soon will be, and david, a year older and infinitely wiser than him, teaches him how to curse. 

paul helps david with his classwork and in return david shows him new music, singing in his strange accent and bright blue eyes. he’s told it’s from america, where david used to live, and that it’s the next big thing. paul reckons, watching his friend with a giddy feeling in his chest, that he just might be right. 

it’s something else to watch david get excited over music, and in turn it makes his appreciation for it grow infinitely. sooner or later they begin trading records, staying up late at night with shoulders pressed to listen to the latest hit. paul begins to notice how cute david is, with his baby face and deepening voice, and he doesn’t even have it in him to get jealous over how fit he looks. on another day, paul’s weight would bug him, baby fat still clinging to his cheeks and stomach, but david said he had nice legs, so he must look fine. right?

it comes to paul in a slow realization. paul likes david, is nice to him and hangs out with him nearly everyday. david is nice to him too, so he just like him back, right?

paul does not consider the fact that david is a boy, does not know that in the time he lives in, it is not a thing that people do, let alone out in the open. he is young enough to not have noticed the slurs his dad sometimes says or how the older kids will beat up a kid of sending a look their way. what he does consider is the pleasant feeling he gets when their fingers brush, or the uncontrollable giddiness that take over him when david throws a smile his way. he listens to his heart, and the happiness that david brings him, and does not think of what is right or wrong. 

paul does not think of rejection, or the bullying that will follow. he thinks of how he likes david and david must like him back, and paul is cute, so what’s not to love?

paul is thirteen when he gets his nose broken for the first time. paul is also thirteen when he gets his heart broken for the first time. 

when paul is thirteen, shortly after getting punched in the privacy of his room, he is spit on, an ugly shake to david’s voice as he calls paul a faggot, and then leaves. leaves paul to cry, and wonder what he did wrong. he learns, all too late that liking, let alone loving another boy is not something one should do. david doesn’t say anything to his friends, and when paul can freely roam the halls without getting his teeth punched in, he considers it a blessing. after all david might have been cruel, but he’s always been nice.

once again, paul figures out something wrong to his idea of love, and fixes it with a bloody nose and salty tears trickling down his face. he learns again, and corrects himself, just because you like someone, they do not have to like them back. their kindness to you does not dictate their affections for you, and kindness does not make the world go round. he also learns perhaps the most important thing, when you are a boy and he is too, you never should of liked him in the first place.

-

(four)

-

paul is nearing fifteen when he realizes that it isn’t a fluke. that he might actually be queer. it’s a heavy fearful thing to discover, midst his dropping grades and never ending grief. paul wonders sometimes whether his mom would have been disappointed had she known. it hurts to think that she’ll never find out, no matter her answer. he hears the word again, not directed to him, but towards the boys who dare shown any sign of weakness, and he catches himself saying it, excusing it as a coverup. the bile that rises in his throat when he sneers at some pretty boy in the corridor, and watches his mates rough the poor boy up, is vile and a near constant at school. it feels like a poorly kept secret, like his friends will one day turn to him and say that they’ve known all along. fear is a near constant at the back of his mind and it hurts him so much, this battle between his mind and his heart. 

his brain tells him to stop, consider the legality of his attractions, and think on how he won’t be able to live normally should he go down that path. his heart however, screams with a blinding ferocity, hot to the touch, that it’s not his fault, that he should be able to love who he wants, consequences be damned. he likes birds, hell loves them and their long legs and pretty faces, but late at night his mind goes elsewhere. it’s confusing, hearing a voice you’ve loved for so long and suddenly getting riled up by it, burning underneath your skin. it’s a dilemma paul has, half riddled with guilt as he tosses himself off beneath his covers, mouth pressed against his pillow and ears straining to hear the elvis record quietly playing a few feet away from him.

he recalls throwing the record away in a red-faced fit, and then crying later about it, because that was a record his mother gave him before she died. it’s the never ending guilt that gets to him, crawls at his throat and leaves him awake on sleepless nights. he wishes he were different, wishes foolishly up to the stars and to his mother with half meant prayers. 

it’s not fair, not fair that paul has to feel like this, nor is it fair that the world is like this, angry and deluded, and all sorts of cruel. but paul is growing, into his skin and confidence, and like many other things, he pushes them away, and pretends everything is fine. it is fine, nothing is wrong with him, nothing at all.

he doesn’t get a girlfriend, not ready to settle into that monogamous sort of thing, but he fools around. fools around as much as a kid his age can at least. he kisses girls underneath the bleachers, and when holly, a pretty little thing lets him touch her bra, he does it half interested, and another half lying to himself. he hangs out with girls and stares at their legs, and talks shit with his friends about his latest escapades. and if he pictures, in the sanctuary of his dreams, of flatter chest planes, and a heavy jaw pressed up against his own, well that’s for him to know.

and no one to find out.

-

(five)

-

paul will not fall for another boy. paul repeats this constantly, and tell himself both as a mantra and as a reminder to not screw up. because david might have shown you kindness but other boys won’t. they will beat you to a pulp and call you names, and make your life a living hell. paul doesn’t want that, doesn’t dare wish that upon himself and so he keeps himself in check.

paul will not fall for another boy.

except he does, barely turned seventeen, and he watches with poorly concealed starry eyes, as john sings a little jaunty tune, head thrown back in glee. john is barely older than him, a year give or take, and infinitely wiser, and all paul can do is stare. he’s handsome, in a way that makes paul’s skin crawl with self-deprecating disgust and a burning lust all the same. he’s different too, larger than life with a cocky smirk planted on his face and a carefree attitude to everything that comes his way. he pulls him aside one day and tells paul, in a secretive tone that they are going to the very top, and paul believes him. believes him with a newborn fascination with music, and an ever growing record collection courtesy of john and his quick fingers. paul is in awe and half way in love, in a way he’s never been, and the happy feeling that he gets when john refers to him as his best friend, never really leaves. 

but that’s the thing. john is his best friend, someone who understands him better than even himself. in turn, paul gets to see john’s weaker sides, and is there for him when his mom dies too. they grow infinitely closer, and paul wonders why his emotions have to come and ruin a thing like this. because he knows the thing him and john have is special, can feel it when they make a song together and can see it in john’s eyes when they catch his own on stage. he can see it’s ruination, can hear the distinct sneer to john’s voice as he backs away, fists a mess with paul’s blood. he can’t risk it, wouldn’t dare give this up for the world.

even so, paul wonders, a hesitant thing when he catches john watching him during one of their group sessions. it’s not a frequent thing, but it’s common enough for the fear lacing paul’s throat time die down, and relax into this weird thing the group has. they do it in the dark, pants hung around their ankles, and they take turns calling out bird’s names as they toss themselves off. he is nearly there, right on the edge, when he opens his eyes and blinks away the foggy darkness of the room. he dares not look at any of his friends and stares at the ceiling with a shaky huff, and tries to tune out the breathy grunts and moans of the boys around him.

he eventually feels a pair of eyes on him, sharp and insistent, in a way the foggy, lazy air of the room doesn’t allow. paul catches himself looking, warily for who it is, and when he catches john’s eyes with his own, he has to stop himself from coming on the spot. it’s a near thing and paul’s breath catches, scratches against the constant lump in his throat, as john slowly smirks at him, sharp and heady. paul smiles back, unhesitant and so turned on he can’t breathe. paul dares not look down at john’s fist, but his eyes catch on the wild movement of his arm and it’s so sensual to his depraved state that paul yearns for it. but john is his best friend, and john is a boy, and this will never end good. 

so paul is the first to look away from their weird stare down, and if he listens to the quiet gasps john makes when he comes, no one knows but him.

paul wonders if john is like him. it’s an ugly thought, and paul hates himself for thinking so, but it’s hard with society’s standards ingrained in his mind, front and center. still he wonders, and tries not to imagine john with another boy, pressed hip to hip as they make out. it’s not disgusting when john is doing it, and paul finds it so unfair that his brain will allow this, will allow another man to be queer but not him, never him. because paul was supposed to be a ladies man, cute and charming, and full of himself in an attractive sort of way. guys like him shouldn’t want to kiss their friend until their both breathless and they definitely shouldn’t get hard after seeing their mate shirtless. even more so, they shouldn’t be tossing themselves off, a dirty sleeve pressed to their mouth, because they are high out of their mind and sang all night looking into their best friend’s eyes. paul shouldn’t be like this, and it’s even worse when he sees john smile, and all he wants to do is hug him and hold his hand. it’s one thing to want to fuck someone and it’s another to want to be with them entirely. he tells himself to be thankful for what he has, and he is, how could he not?

the band is starting to go places and with john on his side, he could never be unhappy.

that never stops himself from wanting.

-

(six)

-

paul is almost nineteen, back in hamburg and tired as hell, when he falls for another boy.

or at least, he likes him, in that lust filled infatuation that teenagers are common for, because paul doesn’t think he’s ever fallen in love before, not in the way he’s supposed to. it’s never been a movie scene or something out of the books that the girls back in liverpool like to read. he’s liked people before, been obsessed with them in a heart breaking, bone aching sort of way, but paul doesn’t have any sort of idea of what love is anymore. can’t explain it to himself and certainly not anyone else. but if he had to, he would try and explain it in crushed flowers and bloody noses. he’d mention the bitter heartbreak that comes with it, and that it’s a foolish thing to do, fall in love. 

were he being honest with himself, he’d mention auburn hair and crooked smiles, of buddy holly glasses and banjo chords. he would talk about even as the seasons come and go, the love stays ever present and constantly growing. paul would smile and think on it, picturing a hot summer day, with sweat slicked to his back and eyes caught on a pretty boy in the beaming sun. because god, he was pretty, achingly so, and no matter what he said, paul has always found him attractive, even before this started. he’d try to explain the deep respect that comes with it, or how despite their heartbreak and faults, they come back to each other, they always do.

but paul is a coward, not that it shows, and so he turns a blind eye and knows nothing of love. 

so paul doesn’t fall in love with another boy, but it’s a near thing, desperate to forget things too close to home.

thomas is a quiet boy, shorter than him, with dark hair and wide eyes, and paul would find his silence odd, if the stark differences from john wasn’t so comforting. he dives into thomas almost guiltily, because he can’t love thomas, doesn’t dare, when he knows his heart belongs to someone else. but thomas is sweet, his accent cute when he chooses to speak, and he smells nice, an easy escape from the never ending cycle that is his life in germany. he laughs at paul’s jokes and stares at him with wide starry eyes, and it’s strange being on the other side of this sort of thing. he’s so used to pining and chasing after people he can’t have, that it’s so weird to have someone look up to him like this. thomas sometimes, in the quiet of his little apartment, tells him he is cute, and the responding blush that paul gives is only his to see.

he tells himself to stop, to reconsider and think before he acts. he thinks of the fist to the face he received that last time he felt like this and the aching pain he felt in his heart afterwards. he lets himself think of john, a rare thing when he’s with thomas, and he tries not to wonder why it feels like a betrayal to him when he wants to kiss thomas. his brain reminds of the heavy fear of his and tells him once again that boys do not love boys.

his mind says no and his heart says yes.

boys can’t like one another, but thomas likes him back.

when paul is nineteen he finds out a boy can like you back, can say he loves you even. he finds out that boys can like other boys, but only in the hidden dark of his apartment or late at night when there is no one around. it’s funny to him, that even after playing for hours on end, thomas will come to him, make eye contact from across the club, and paul will blindly follow like a lost puppy. their dynamic has changed, quiet in a way it wasn’t, and stilled in areas it shouldn’t be. paul almost misses when they were just friends, trying to make conversation in languages neither really understood. instead thomas is assured of himself, control of whatever this is, and all paul can do is follow blindly and hope he doesn’t get burned. 

he learns that a boy will only love you when he’s got nothing to lose. thomas doesn’t have many friends and his family is long gone, fled from the repercussions from the war. he learns that thomas shows his love strangely, and it’s remarkable that even now, he was expecting some sort of romance, as if what they had was normal.

thomas will love you with cold hands crawling down your pants, and he will love you with your lips wrapped around his cock. he will love you with drunken, high kisses after the two of you finish, and you lay on the dirty floor next to his bed. he will love you with a sweet smile as you leave his apartment, ready to sneak back to the crappy hole you live in before the band notices, before john notices. he will love you for the music you play and the fame it brings, but not for you.

paul finds out he won’t love you. not really. he won’t love you with words or love you in public, and he certainly won’t love you in the way the songs you sing talk about. he won’t hold your hand, or give you soft, affectionate kisses, and he doesn’t even love you in the dark, back of the cinema. strangely this hurts worse than bloody punches or cruel words ever could. it remind you what you are, and screams it constantly at the back of you mind. 

faggot. faggot. faggot.

when paul leaves germany he doesn’t say goodbye, already over thomas, but he learns a powerful lesson. you can like someone and be kind to them and receive kindness in return, and they can say they like you too, but don’t let that fool you. people rarely say what they mean and the world is selfish and cruel. lies are a constant in order to achieve what you want, and the love that exists in songs and movies rarely comes true. so when a boy tells you he loves you, do not take his word for truth. 

-

(seven)

-

paul is twenty nearing twenty one, and has the world under his feet. he is riding the highs of a released album and the money starting to flow in, and he is happy in a way he hasn’t been in a while. he has a girlfriend, a pretty one at that, and he is content with their relationship.

jane is a pretty, long legged bird, and it surprises him when she shows an interest in him. he isn’t like john, so low on confidence that he has to fake it, but it is a shock that she chose paul out of all the men she could of had in the industry. he knows an opportunity when he sees one and ever the business man, he takes it without another thought. and when the boys begin to give him shit when they first starting writing letters to each other, he doesn’t care for once, too busy trying to fall into this new thing. it’s the first time he’s dated in a while, and the first girl he’s been hooked on for even longer. she’s smart, and sharp witted, and sometimes she reminds him of john. that’s not a welcome path in his brain however, so he casts it away and looses himself in her bright hair, and soft flesh. he falls in love with her, and considers marrying her, a brief thing, when he sees her smile. it’s simple loving jane, easy in a way love and never been, and for once, it resembles his childlike portrayal of how he was supposed to fall in love. he forgets of john, forgets of his weird attractions to men, and he finds a normalcy in his crazy life.

or that’s how he’d like it to go. he thinks if he were to write a story on the two of them it would go a bit like that, a fairytale, an unrealistic dream. instead he tries to fall in love, half desperate to prove himself, looking for some sign that he isn’t screwed in the head. jane’s a nice girl, well settled and rich, and he knows that if he did end up with her for the long run, it would be a nice life. exciting? definitely not, but something to make his old man proud? certainly. he brings her flowers and writes her songs until he realizes they start about one person and end about another. paul tries not to think of how his mind always goes back to him, and instead focused on the present. it’s an easy thing to pretend to love her, because that’s what this is really. he can tell himself that he loves jane all he wants, and he might believe it, but it’s lie, a half baked one at that.

it’s an odd game he’s playing with himself, seeing how far he can go with his lies until they catch him off guard. he feels sorry for jane, hates doing this to someone who deserves nothing but the best, but he just wanted to forget, wanted to feel some semblance of normalcy. unfortunately for paul, it catches up to him sooner than he had liked, with a raised eyebrow from jane and a gentle, but firm mention that they needed to talk. she ends things with teary eyes, and paul finds himself getting emotional too. because he may have not loved her, not the way they both wish he would, but he liked her and he never wished to see her hurt. he tells her such, unaware of what his words might imply, but she smiles at him, a bittersweet thing and says nothing but i love you. it’s forgiving and kind in it’s nature and it gives paul this strange hope that maybe love can exist for him, it may have not worked for him yet, but jane’s gentle reminder gives him a purpose to write about again. 

this time over when he writes of love it’s not an ugly one sided thing, but one of growth and forgiveness, and when he shows it to jane, a bashful smile on his face, she smiles sweetly and paul dutifully ignores the tears in her eyes. she tells him it’s beautiful in a way his songs for her have never been, and she asks who it is for. when paul says nothing but shrugs, a distant, fearful thing, she laughs and places a hand on his shoulder. she says some things causal in a way they shouldn’t be, and tone carefree as if she wasn’t rocking his whole world. she speaks of him and john knowingly, talking of his well kept secret as if it were nothing, and paul stares flabbergasted and half scared to death as she rambles on. eventually picking up on his mood, her face softens and she hugs him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. she tells him good luck, and with another shaky press of her lips to his cheek, she leaves, a whirlwind of red ferocity.

paul learns something of love from this, that you can be kind to someone and say you like them, and they can be kind and like you back. but this does not dictate your feelings and love is not something you can force not matter how sweet the person is.

paul thinks jane deserved better, the sweet thing she is.

-

(eight)

-

paul will not fall in love with another boy.

but as he stands in the studio, palms sweaty and chest heaving, after a remarkable recording session, all he can see is him.

john’s hair is glued to his forehead, the studio lights creating a halo around his face. he’s breathing just as hard as paul, maybe even harder, and he’s beaming head to toe, with the satisfaction of a great recording day. when he turns to look at paul, his smile grows impossibly wider, and turns soft at the edges in the way it only does for him. paul is once again struck with the fact that john is the prettiest boy in the world, and handsomest thing to ever cross his eye.

paul is in love with another boy. 

paul is in love with john but he ignores it with an iron will. he swallows down the butterflies in his throat and his palms that itch to touch, and hold hands with him. because boys can like other boys, but never love them, not really.

paul is in love with john but he won’t admit it, not even when it’s blatantly clear that he does. he ignores it because john is his best friend and is his band mate, and loving him will ruin everything. he ignores it because boys do not love other boys, and even the kind ones will punch you down and call you cruel names. and john is a lot of things, but he’s never kind. not in a way that is the mainstream nice, buttered up and sweet, all flowers and rainbows. he’s too blunt to be considered kind. he’s nice, sweet in his own ways, but paul has seen how cruel he can be, and he will break should it be directed towards him. 

because paul can take a lot of shit, has gone through enough to last a lifetime, but john’s rejection, john’s cruelty would kill him. it would rip apart his chest, just to reach into the open cavity and crush his heart to pieces. 

and so he says nothing, remains in this gloomy silence, and if he’s caught staring one too many times, he can blame it on the drugs. these days, it’s always the drugs.

-

(nine)

-

paul is twenty three, high out of his mind and he sees the stars. he sees the world spinning at a different axis, and with loose limbs, and a looser tongue, his guts spill.

and it goes a bit like this.

it’s a quiet night, one of those where john doesn’t say much, but offers up one of those deadly pills to him, and they take them, eyes catching on the movement of each other’s throats. then suddenly, they are outside on the damp grass, with the cool evening air gently pressing on their chests. they then fall, backs to the ground and stare up at the night sky, arms pressed seamlessly together. john will ask if he is there, if he sees what he sees, and paul will respond, sluggishly that he is always there.

“but you weren’t.” even in this state, john’s unsolved resentment towards the situation is achingly clear. paul looks at him, the effort exhausting, and he tries to smile, a shaking thing. how can he explain himself without john not understanding? john never grasped how cowardly paul can be, and he doesn’t get how paul feared it. feared the change that came with it, and how alienated it feels to be on the outside looking in. he wants to say all of this, and more, so much more, but he is a coward so he holds his tongue.

“i’m here now aren’t i?” he responds quietly, and tries not to jump when fingers intertwine with his own. instead he squeezes john’s hand back and tries to remain the cool, collected person he is supposed to be. john is annoyingly intuitive when he wants to be, and paul feels a pair of eyes on him, the sharpness of his stare not dulled by the acid in his veins.

“what’s wrong with you then?” it’s a simple question, a casual front, but paul can hear the warning beneath it, the icy coolness that it possesses. paul wonders if john knows. if he knows that he likes men, knows if he likes john. paul hopes not, and reckons he doesn’t. john made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t take the idea lightly, and paul thinks that it would be noticeable had john known. he wouldn’t be here in john’s garden holding hands with him for one thing, nor would he be in the band. john would leave him, and his world would become instantly more dull. he’d lose his best friend, his teacher, and the love of his life all at once. all because he’s queer. it’s a realization that hurts, hurts more than any sort of rejection or bloody fists can do, and paul wonders how he’s allowed himself to fall this deep into the man pressed up against him.

he doesn’t understand why he does what comes next, can hear his brain telling him to stop and think, consider the past before he speaks. it reminds him of lily, david, and thomas, and the strange sorrow all of them brought. it says to him that just because jane gave some form of bittersweet support, it doesn’t dictate the rest of the world. because paul could like someone, love them with all the air in his lungs, and there is no guarantee that he’ll be loved back. and even if he is, it will never be normal, because boys aren’t supposed to love boys.

it comes out of his mouth anyways, his head too far up in the clouds to realize what he is saying until he is too late.

“the first time i had a crush i was eight you know.” paul says quietly, listening to john whistle some sort of sad tune. it’s nice, and paul reminds himself to ask him about it when he isn’t so high. it’s cold outside, the sun long gone, but paul can’t feel a thing besides the steady warmth of john’s side and burning heat of their hands wrapped together. “i’d draw her little pictures and bring her flowers from my mom’s garden. she’d let me chase her if i’d eat the flower and i always did, despite how foolish it was. i don’t recall there being a time where i didn’t choke on the flower petals as they came back up.”

john gives a laugh, a little unsure one, and it urges to him to press on while the both of them are still so open, so calm compared to normal. 

“i used to think that was how love worked. you like a person, and you are nice to them. i thought inevitably they’d like you back.” john gives a derisive snort in reply and paul nods in a bittersweet amusement. “yeah i was dumb, dumb for thinking love came that easy.”

john peers at him, circular glasses creating halos around his eyes, and in the dark paul sees him raise an eyebrow. “isn’t that how it works? it’s what we write in our songs afterall.” it’s not a question, not really and paul shrugs in response, staring back up at sky, eyes fixated on a particularly bright star.

paul wants to tell him that love doesn’t work that way, that is it so often disappointing that paul has given up hope on it. but that wouldn’t fit his persona and would come off strange, something john would say, but never paul. so instead he slips up, the truth light on his tongue.

“well, when i was thirteen i had my first crush on a boy.” paul treads lightly, and tenses up when john’s hand slips away from his. he waits for some sort of reaction, waits too long perhaps, and he shifts his head to look at john, who is starting back with wide eyes. paul turns his body to the side to watch him, hands held up warily, and his breath catches when john shifts towards paul. he braces expecting to be hit, but instead john lays on his side and leans in placing a shaky hand on paul’s waist. he says nothing, but his dilated eyes catch on paul’s face, and he sighs, a little shrug to his shoulder. 

“i liked a boy. for the first time, and i learned that you can like someone all you want, and the two of you can be nice to each other, but it means nothing. i learned that kissing your friend, even in the privacy of your room gives you a bloody nose and a hurt heart. it’s no good, this sorry excuse for love.” paul spits, half angry at what had happened so long ago, and another part scared when john nods quietly, a shaky strange smile appearing on his face.

paul knows instantly it will be okay, when the smile turns into a smirk, and john looks at him with appeasing eyes.

“i couldn’t care less who you want to fuck mate. just don’t be leering over me while i sleep, and we’ll be good.” john teases lightly, and paul sees the escape that is being offered, so paul giggles, a frantic sort of thing, and tries to ignore the beat that skips in his heart when john presses their foreheads together. “you’re daft, you know that?” john says, and paul considers fighting it, and reminding him of the things he has said in anger before. those kind of slurs aren’t uncommon in johns mouth, and paul finds his worry reasonably justified. but then he notices the subtle shake to john’s frame, and paul realizes he’s talking about something else. 

paul goes to ask, but the question lingers in his throat, when john pulls him flush to his chest, and paul relaxes into it, finding solace in the comforting touch.

paul figures the rest can wait, now is too important to miss.

except it doesn’t, the world out to get him, as yet another thing slips of his tongue. it’s a shaky thing, quiet enough that if someone wasn’t paying attention, they’d miss it. but unfortunately for paul in this moment, john is paying attention. he always is when paul is involved.

the words ‘i love you’ comes tumbling harshly out of his mouth, an audible gasp echoing right behind it. it hurts so much to say it because this time he means it, means it in a way he couldn’t before and the realization of what he has done slowly sinks in. and as soon as it happens, he flinches back.

because boys can like other boys, boys might even love other boys, but admitting it at a time like this? it just isn’t done. not when you already risked outing yourself to your best friend, and got a shaky acceptance that makes your heart hurt in the best kind of way. paul has ruined things with his inability to shut up, and he should’ve known.

he never wins when it comes to this. love isn’t for him.

and so he waits, tensed up, prepares for hands to meet his body and punch until he is bruised. paul prépares for john to tell the rest of the band, readies himself for their sneers and cruel words as he is kicked out. it’s a red hot fear that consumes him, and he is burning, being flayed alive behind his mortification.

he clenches his eyes shut and he feels john’s hands leave his sides, and paul prepares for the worst. before an apology can leaves his lips, he feels warm lips press against his own and john is kissing him. it’s a soft thing until it isn’t, and calloused hands come up and cradle his face, as the kiss turns deeper and insistent. and then, john pulls back and stares at him disbelievingly, shutters halfway across his eyes.

“you’re not joking are you?” it’s insecure in a way that dampers the mood, and paul giddy off of the kiss and longing for more, shakes his head aggressively.

“god no. john, it’s you.” paul doesn’t get much out, caught up in the weight of john’s hands on his face, but john gets him, he always does. as if a button was turned on, the both of them simultaneously smile, crooked grins and crow lines pressed at the corners of their eyes. john then presses a sweet kiss to paul’s temple, and he finds himself calm down, going impossibly more lax in his arms.

he imagines they look like a pretty constellation wrapped up around each other on the grass, and he is so high, high off of drugs and love. he burns, a fiery bright and john’s hands leave singe marks at the slightest touch.

it’s only when he feels a thumb brush underneath his eye, that he realizes he was crying, a slow, quiet thing, but heady with emotion all the same. he says it again, suddenly needing the confirmation that he isn’t wrong, that he didn’t just majority screw something up.

john rolls his eyes but his words betray his actions, as he smiles, and says it back. “don’t be daft, you know i love you.” it’s simple, and so john that anything else would be ridiculous. paul hears himself laugh ecstatically, and john’s airy chuckles join in, and paul watches as they intertwine together and float into the night sky.

now paul will later on say to john, when the two of them are sober that he was the one who taught him that love could exist, a mutually beneficial thing, where paul isn’t the one getting hurt. he will tell him of the dream he had as a child, of this fairytale like love, this instant sort of thing where all love needs is two people and a bit of kindness. 

he will then tell him, eyes wide and a smile on his lips, that this is better than anything he could of dreamt of. it’s real, and it’s not nearly as poetic, but it’s lyrical in its own way. he’ll speak of hot summer rays and guitar strings, and of lonely nights when the two of them had too much grief to speak. he will reminisce on days where they lived hip to hip and of all the new things they experienced together. with a smirk, and a hip pressed against the wall, he’ll mention nights where he tossed himself off and thought of john, while the man himself was sleeping a few feet away. paul will lean in and whisper of the dreams he’s had and the ones he want to recreate, and smile innocently afterwards as if he said nothing. john will call him cheesy, and tell him to quit acting like a girl, but he will do that little pleased quirk to his lips and the dull flush to his cheeks, and paul won’t be fooled.

it’s not easy, but it’s worth it, and paul knows he is loved. knows it in the way he catches john starting at him fondly and how he laughs helplessly at the stupid shit paul says. he sees in how john will sometimes come over and do nothing but sit with him and hold his hand, asking for nothing else. paul is loved with johns gentle hands, and questing lips, as they tug each other off, murmured affections pressed into each other’s necks. he is loved endlessly and relentlessly in a way that makes it hard to breathe, and paul wouldn’t change it for the world.

paul figures out, that love isn’t something one can define. it changes and reshapes itself for every person, and to expect the picture perfect romance on the television would be foolish. he wishes he could go back an tell himself to not fixate so much on it, and that it will come in due time. that some people aren’t worth fighting for, and not everyone is going to fall in love with you, just because you want them to. eventually he would say to his younger self, you’ll meet someone who completes you. someone who is your other half, your soulmate in many regards, and is prettier than all the girls you chased in school. that if he waited a while, and kept his heart open, he’d find the love he was looking for. 

paul reckons, as he looks at john’s sleeping form, that this is better than he could of imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m not entirely sure where i was going with this, hope it’s still readable though! i know a lot of people like to place john as the canon bisexual but i really wanted to see paul figure that sort of stuff out, because if he can find john attractive then he can like other boys too. obviously no slander is intended with this, and is just a way for me to express myself and my thoughts.
> 
> hope you enjoyed, and have a nice day. :)


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